


Open til Midnight

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You could be onto something here son, I've been thinking about ways we could make the Manchester store our showpiece and this could be it! And you keep saying we're out of touch with the punters. Records still sell, that'll be our niche!" he gets up with a grin and is out the door with a "get on that Zayn. I expect good news at the end of the month!"</p><p>The door slams at the same time Zayn's forehead hits the desk.</p><p>Taking Harry down this way wasn't exactly in Zayn's plans at all.</p><p> </p><p>OR - The AU mash up of You've Got Mail and Empire Records no one ever asked for. Well, no one ever thought was possible. Featuring stray cats, a record store, shamless stealing of the Musictown name and an abundance of odd emails.</p><p>WELCOME TO VINYL DESTINATION. OPEN TIL MIDNIGHT</p><p>yes. midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open til Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alnima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alnima/gifts).



> huge thank you to the ever wonderful mod at the Zarry Exchange for your AMAZING hard work and dedication to wrangling authors into adding fic to the Zarry universe! You are a STAR! 
> 
> This would NOT have happened without my sprint gals, my ot5 and my moo. And my B2.0 for the entire plot, basically. xx 
> 
> beta'd by the lovely 3b - any other mistakes are my own - and britpicked by my BRIT, you know who you are x
> 
> Sorry Alnima, but this turned a little more into an Empire Records AU than the You've Got Mail AU it started out as... hope you don't mind!

"Boss, your boss is here," Stan's voice calls out all tinny over the loudspeaker. Zayn groans in the back office. He'd forgotten his Dad was dropping by today.

Forgotten or tried to push it out of mind completely. 

He tidies up his desk a bit. Hides his comics and music mags under a pile of business mail and clicks out of chrome into internet explorer (because it's what his dad _insists_ they use) and the company's website flashes into action just as Yaser opens the door. He's still wearing his coat, which means he won't be staying long. A blessing, honestly. Zayn loves his father, but dreads having him anywhere near the store for too long. Mostly because of two reasons: one, he'll want to know what sales figures are like and if Zayn has fired Stan yet (can't do, won't do, he likes him too much even if he flirts with birds more than sells anything) and two, he'll ask about Zayn's current relationship.

Or lack thereof.

Again.

"Hi Dad," Zayn says with a touch of a smile. It's genuine, but he doesn't like to put too much effort in because his dad always asks what he's grinning for when numbers are down when he does. One day he'll realise that music isn't being physically bought anymore. No one buys cd's and singles when they can just download it at the touch of a button. Yaser won't even let them have the option to sell any product online. Doesn't trust computers or something.

The older generation are so out of touch.

"Zayn," his father says with that air of authority that Zayn's had to listen to ever since he turned sixteen and told his parents he didn't want to go on to formal schooling. That he had other ideas in mind for his life. Ideas that were firmly shoved back into the realms of "maybe never" once his dad said that it was fine if he wanted to skip University, but he'd have to spend his saturdays learning about the company if he wanted to take it over before he was thirty. 

He didn't exactly have that in mind for what he really wanted out of life. But at that stage, anything was better than being bullied for the colour of his skin in the fifth school he'd been to in four years. 

"Zayn, I was just passing by and thought I'd stop in and ask how it was going with that little project I sent you?" His dad asks, taking his hat off to rub at his hair. 

Zayn frowns inwardly. He hates these little "projects" his father sets up. Zayn's opened four stores for his dad's franchise in the past two years and they've all focused around the same method for success. Take down the little guy. Leave no stone unturned. . . or record for that matter.

"Don't make that face, son. You know how important it is that this store does well. We've had little revenue intake of late and if you just did what I asked of -"

"Couldn't we just work together with them on this, Dad?" Zayn interrupts, watching the corner of his dad's left eye twitch like it always does when Zayn or anyone does so. "It's just. They're small, yeah? And completely different to us. They don't sell blurays or dvds or CD's for that matter. They don't even have a web page." 

Which is sort of true. Zayn knows that there's one in the works. He may or may not know the person who is setting it up for them. 

What his best mate and all around expert at IT chooses to do in his spare time is just that, his choice.

Even if Zayn was the one to point out this fault to the owner of said small record store, and also put Louis' name up for free web service and advice, no one actually knows it was him. Well. Louis might have figured it out. Though Louis is a bit of a tech wiz and so far none of Zayn's passwords have ever proved too hard for him to get past. It's always been that way though, since Zayn met Louis in the business and computer courses his father made him take on at College. Louis was always the first to muck up in class, but that was mostly because he'd already hacked into half the countries security systems by the time he was twelve and may also have caused one of the most serious multi vehicle car accidents in London when he turned all the lights green in the middle of town, purely because he could. There's no actual evidence of these facts. Just rumour. Louis' casefile was closed once he turned eighteen and he's been on the straight and narrow ever since. Well, that the gov know of.

Yaser is quiet and staring at Zayn with a look that Zayn's come to know means he's contemplating what Zayn's saying. A good sign really, because Zayn's only ever seen that look once before and that was when he wanted to drop his psychology class to add one on music. His dad thinking that it was a good idea, what with the company business revolving around that subject. He really liked the grades Zayn brought home from that class, too. Which was great seeing as Zayn actually spent the time he was supposed to be at Music lying about on the green smoking up with Danny, Louis and Ant. Again, Louis really did know his way around a computer and Zayn's reports always came back glowing.

"You could be onto something here son, I've been thinking about ways we could make the Manchester store our showpiece and this could be it! And you keep saying we're out of touch with the punters. Records still sell, that'll be our niche!" he gets up with a grin and is out the door with a "get on that Zayn. I expect good news at the end of the month!"

The door slams at the same time Zayn's forehead hits the desk.

Taking Harry down this way wasn't exactly in Zayn's plans at all.

> From: setzerstrays@gmail.com  
>  To: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com
> 
> Danny, if you could meet any musician in the world and ask them one question, who would it be?
> 
> I think that thing you mentioned about Tiger's poo was probably because of all that toxic tinned food you're feeding her! So much better for her diet if you cook it up yourself, yeah? I've attached some recipes.
> 
> Good luck!
> 
> Henry x

Harry can hear Nick before he can see him. He sneezes again for the fifth time in the last ten minutes and curses the fact that he isn't making enough to hire a cleaner. Or the fact that he just hasn't got the time to do this himself. He really should. Maybe he could talk Niall into it. He isn't much for coming down to Harry's store but he is one for everything being neat and tidy and clean. Bit OCD about it really when they're at home. Maybe Harry could offer to bake him that spinach and goats cheese tart he likes as payment. Or a blowjob.

Niall will probably want the food.

"Christ, Harry. I knew you said you hadn't had time to clean of late but this is a bit much!" Nick's voice bellows as he sneezes himself. Harry should keep masks for back here. 

Or he could just dust.

Masks might be less time consuming.

As it is, when he turns around Nick has what looks like a very expensive scarf wrapped around his face instead and watery eyes, pinched at the corners staring back at him. 

"Nicholas," Harry says in welcome. "What do I owe the pleasure? It's barely midday, shouldn't you be asleep after your show last night?" Harry picks through the last few records in the box and finally finds what he was looking for. He really should hire someone exclusively to organise this mess into something a bit easier to navigate. Then again, hiring someone would ultimately mean paying them and Harry barely makes enough to cover his bills _and_ give himself a salary so, maybe he should just do the job himself.

"Annie sent me down. Said you had a few things for her?" Nick picks up a particularly dusty vinyl and blows on the cover sending dust everywhere. Idiot.

"Yeah, I do. Just looking for a copy of Sgt Peppers I'm sure I've got back here. Annie's stuff's out front," Harry takes the record from Nick's hands with a frown as Nick sneezes twice in a row. For how often he ends up back here with Harry or out with Harry on scavenger hunts ransacking through car boot sales and estate auctions, he never seems to remember how filthy this job can be. 

"Was that what I found then?" Nick asks, sounding quite blocked up in the nose. 

Harry shakes his head. "No, but you did find the Zepplin album Liam was just asking about," Harry slides around Nick, listening to him sniffle and snuffle, following behind back out to the front of shop. 

"Are you sure that's for Liam? Sounds more like it's for-" 

"Malik, what are you doing here?" Harry interrupts, holding the album close to his chest as he takes in the sight of what he likes to refer to as his mortal enemy. Zayn would have to be evil, he's too good looking to be nice.

At least that's what Harry tries to remember when he catches himself staring at Zayn without blinking whenever Zayn's in the store. If only Liam wasn't such a great customer, he'd ban them both. But. . . he needs Liam's business. Up and coming DJ's that have a regular gigs in London yet travel to Manchester _just_ for Harry's impressive and rare vinyl collections aren't exactly easy to come by. Especially those who don't seem to want to haggle for prices, just smile and slip Harry a few pound extra before slipping out. 

He does bring his best mate with him though and that is the one downside of Liam's business.

Zayn bloody "Manager of Manchester's premier music store: Malik's Musictown" Malik. 

Zayn "arsehole who wants to take over Harry's little record store of rarities, swallow it up and spit it out with a high revenue on jacked up prices" Malik

Zayn "owner of one amazing set of cheekbones, eyelashes that seem to grow in length every time Harry sees him, currently sporting a tiny little topknot of hair at the top of his head, shaved at the sides, sex on black skinny jean legs with ink that Harry's had glimpses of and would like to know more about, purely for artistic reasons" Malik.

At least he has no bum. That's one thing. 

Not that Harry's spent an exorbitant amount of time looking. It's a fact is all. When he's watching Zayn walk out the door - purely to make sure he's left Harry's store - he notices.

No bum, but a smile and laugh that would melt the most iced over heart.

Not Harry's though. Zayn is the _enemy_.

Zayn's grinning at him, that one where he sticks his tongue behind his teeth and his eyes crinkle up so much the bridge of his nose wrinkles.

It's _not_ as endearing as it sounds.

Well, at least Harry pretends that it's not. He has priorities. And bills. Loads of bills. And a love of this store and the clients he has and the backbone not to give in to a gorgeous smile and what Harry assumes is playful banter to get him onside. Not flirting. They don't do that. 

Mortal enemies do _not_ flirt.

"Come up to see you, Harry. Liam needed a few things and I wondered if you had managed to find me that Bob Marley and the Wailers-"

"No. Not yet," Harry says, knowing full well the album in question, a recording of rare tracks released by his wife Rita two years after his death, is currently sitting in his back office having arrived three weeks earlier.

Harry isn't petty.

Usually.

Zayn's a different case, is all.

"Thought your motto was "If they made it, we'll find it," Zayn asks leaning on the counter, tapping his fingers over the glass surface that could probably do with a buff and shine. Well, it isn't _that_ see through anymore. Nothing like the sparkle of chrome and perspex that Zayn would be used to at Musictown. 

Not that Harry would know about all that much about what Musictown looked like.

He was simply checking out the competition when he had put on that wig and fat suit that Niall had worn to his works Christmas party the year before. It would have looked strange if he had of gone in as himself. He hadn't got caught, which was the important thing. . . even if he did have to buy a bloody Taylor Swift cd on his way out purely to get the salesboy to leave him be. 

That's one thing he has going for him, Harry leaves people to their own devices to shop in peace. 

"That is, but I'm a very busy man, Malik. Your request is quite far down the line," Harry gets out a rag that the thinks he used to soak up a beer Niall had spilled in here when Harry'd first opened the store. Five years ago.

He wipes over the counter, pushing Zayn's hand off as he goes and ignoring the slight buzzing feeling that shoots up his arm when their fingertips brush. Static electricity is all. Nothing else. 

"It's fine, I can wait. Gotten a bit used to that of late," Zayn says with a smirk, obviously meaning how he's virtually perched at the ready to swoop on Harry's store the moment he can't prove to the bank he can continue paying off his loan. Well, that's what Harry imagines seeing as he's now very occupied with cleaning the glass - even if his clean is more smearing the buildup of fingerprints and sticky _stuff_ from one side to the other.

"Oh you'll be waiting alright. Hell might have to freeze over!" Harry spits, cheeks flushed. He _hates_ confrontation and Zayn seems to bring it out in him time and time again. Probably why he's the enemy.

"Alright, Zayn, you've had your laugh. I don't need Harry pissed off before he tells me how much I owe him, yeah?" Liam interrupts with a sigh. 

Poor long suffering Liam. Harry'd really gotten to like him when he first started stopping by three years back. Liam had found Vinyl Destination from a segment Harry did once a week on Nick's night show on Radio1. Nick either had Harry on or would discuss Harry's adventures combing the countryside looking for rare pieces and not so to add to his collection, usually involving Nick tagging along for something to do. Liam popped in, wanting to start playing records like a proper DJ, not just mixing tracks electronically. Now he had a permanent gig at Funky Buddah in London and a few others around, his name starting to be something sought after amongst clubbing circles. 

Harry likes Liam.

He just wishes he didn't have such poor taste in friends.

Harry nods at Nick to give Liam the album, Zayn nicking it from Liam's grasp before it even settled in his hands.

"Oi, that's Liam's!" Harry snips without meaning to, Nick's eyes bug a bit which means he was probably a little more short than he thought he was being. "I mean, it's just. It's valuable, yeah?"

"I know the rules, Harry," Zayn answers, not paying Harry any mind as he turns the album over, sliding out the record out far more carefully than Harry assumed he would.

Harry mumbles under his breath about snatching definitely being on the list, but he's mostly ignored as he takes Liam's cash, half listening to Liam and Nick discuss shop. Nick still DJ's for parties and things and has been a big help in getting Liam up the ladder, that and Annie Mac owed Harry a few favours for some albums he'd found for her, too. It would have been a lovely little circle of influential friends if it hadn't of been for Musictown and it's resident Malik.

Liam makes noises about having to go, needing to be back in Wolverhampton later that afternoon for his sisters birthday. Harry raises his eyes for a minute to say his farewells to Liam, fist bumping his hand as they always do and near doing the same to Zayn until he realises they aren't like that. It's a bit weird how he leaves it out there for a second before recognising his faux pas, running his hand through his hair instead like it had been what he was going to do the whole time. 

Even Zayn lifts one perfectly shaped brow at him after that, but thankfully says nothing.

They leave and Harry stops fidgeting with his hair and pops the till for Liam's money. 

Nick's laughing. He waits for the front door to close of course, but he's laughing and Harry knows it's at his expense.

"Was that, was that you being _mean_ , Harold?" Nick asks between gasps of guffaws.

Harry frowns harder, throwing his elbow into Nick's side which doesn't actually shut him up, just pauses the hysterics for about three seconds before he's laughing harder than before.

"I hate Zayn Malik, Nicholas, and if you were a proper friend, you'd hate him, too!" Harry says counting out Liam's money and putting it away. As usual, Liam's slipped a tenner in there that he didn't owe Harry. Harry shakes his head, but puts it in all the same. Every penny counts, especially when Harry's up against a bloody mogul like Zayn is with his bloody MusicTown.

"You know they do say you hate the ones you love," Nick says, all sing song after his chuckles finally end. 

Harry harrumphs. "No one says that, Nick."

"Sure they do," Nick says with a shrug, walking around the other side of the counter so he can lean right over into Harry's face. "Pigtail pulling, innit? Bloody primary school you two are. Anyone with eyes would notice,"

Harry turns and busies himself with making sure the records on show are all lined up properly before he answers. "One, may I remind you he's trying to take over my business? Two, he's the _enemy_ , Nick. Haven't you ever heard of "keep your friends close and your enemies even closer and three,"

"Yes?"

"Three," Harry says turning around, grin slipping easily onto his face as he hears the bell go at the front door, see's a familiar head of hair making his way through the isles. "Three, I've already got a boyfriend," he says a little softer as the boy in question appears around the side of the isle, sidling up beside Nick before jumping up on the counter and pressing his lips to Harry's cheek.

"Hiya Niall."

> From: setzerstray@gmail.com  
>  To: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com 
> 
> Ugh. WORK.
> 
> I've got til the end of them month to prove to the bank that the business is growing. That it's still viable. Then I've got these other bastards trying to buy me out and it's hard, yeah? James helps out where he can but. . . he's got enough on his plate.
> 
> It's just. . . it's mine, you know? It's mine from the wooden floors that could have done with a polish three years back to the dusty shelves and the mould in the shape of a christmas tree growing in size as well as colour in the back room. 
> 
> I wrote out that quote you sent me, stuck it on the fridge. It helps.
> 
> Henry x

Zayn leans back in his chair and rubs at his eyes. He'd been excited to get home, finding a new email from Henry waiting in his inbox. They've been more regular of late, Henry stressed with work and troubles with his man and Zayn. . . Zayn attempting to give relationship advice which is hilarious considering the last relationship he'd had was a quick hand job in the toilet of a club Liam had been playing at.

Zayn's happily single. 

He doesn't need any internet dating - as much as Louis says he does, offering to set his account up and screen them if he wishes. Zayn doesn't wish. 

He's busy at work and busy trying to find a way to not take over Harry's store. He really likes the business Harry's built. He doesn't think it's fair that with every town they open in, they have to smash the little guy, the everyday bloke just trying to earn a few quid. He doesn't have _time_ or energy to date anyone. 

And he has responsibilities.

Responsibilities in the form of a fourteen month old Tabby cat called Tiger. He found her when she was a kitten in the alley on his way home from one of Liam's gigs. Tiny thing made a right bloody noise, meowing loudly, far too loudly for her size, just fitting into the palm of his hand. Having no real idea what to do with a bloody kitten at that hour of night, he'd bundled her up under his shirt and took her upstairs to his flat. She didn't touch the bowl of watery milk he set out for her and would only stop her meowing when he had her back under his shirt again. Google had a bunch of links, but most lead him to things that required a doctorate in animal care. He eventually found a local animal shelter site that had an FAQ section with an abundance of threads on stray animal care. 

He got to talking with one of the members and after a week, Zayn and @SetzerStray - or Henry as he told "Danny" to call him - Zayn not stupid enough to give out his real name - started exchanging emails instead. It took a while but Zayn eventually learned more about Henry than his amazing skills with rescuing stray cats (his own partially blind calico, Brian, having been rescued a few years back). 

Zayn knows that Henry runs his own shop. He knows that he's gay, Henry having mentioned a boyfriend once. He knows that Henry worked in a bakery when he was growing up - it's not hard to know that fact, Henry brings it up any time that bread or something pastry like is mentioned. He knows that Henry is caring, is a complete sweetheart to his cat and likes to tell stories about his life that seem to meander down a long and winding path before getting to the point.

Zayn's sort of endeared by Henry, really.

Not that he's thought of asking Henry out or anything, he does have a boyfriend that he seems sort of complacent with and Zayn knows he makes Henry laugh, makes Henry feel good. Henry's told him so. Making someone feel better is lovely enough.

Zayn doesn't _need_ anything more.

He's fine really. He's got Tiger and the store and Henry. He doesn't need anymore than that.

Well. Maybe. 

If a certain pair of green eyes, curly brown hair and lips just _made_ for sucking cock pop into his mind whenever he seems to be getting off lately, it's purely accidental. It's been awhile since he interacted with someone new. Someone who doesn't treat him like he's a one way ticket to Malik's millions (not that his dad has those. Maybe a couple, but they'd have to sell everything and there's no way they'd do that). It's been a while since anyone's really caught his eye and he loves the banter he and Harry share everytime he visits Vinyl Destination. But it's simply that, banter. 

Not flirting in the slightest.

Henry though. . . Zayn's fairly certain the innuendo laden replies of late aren't just for a laugh. 

The thing is, Zayn isn't completely certain one way or the other, so he plays it safe, much like he does with everything else in his life.

> From: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com  
>  To: setzerstrays@gmail.com 
> 
> H, 
> 
> I finally got my hands on that Rick Springfield LP and mate, you were totally right about Jesse's Girl. 
> 
> How weird is it that we both like something so random, yeah? Like, none of my mates like anything from back then. . . they're all about what's big now or that dance club shite. Can't get into it at all, even if it's me best mates favourite kind.
> 
> I don't know. Maybe it's not that weird we like the same stuff.
> 
> Nice though. Having something else in common apart from cats.
> 
> And lads. 
> 
> Your James is a lucky boy!
> 
> talk soon, Danny

Harry watches as Niall sits forward on their sofa, hands clasped on his knees tight as he stares intently at the screen, his beloved Rams being trounced by whoever it is in the white they're playing. Harry's not paying all that much attention, he's been trying to balance his books for an hour now and he's still no closer to making the columns add up. He's not in the red by any means. . . well, not by much. He just has to sell a few more records this week and he'll break even. Or close enough.

"What fucking type of a call is that you absolute wanker!" Niall shouts at the TV, one hand in his hair, tugging as he points at the screen with the other. 

Harry finds himself grinning a little. He's known Niall since they were thirteen, Niall having arrived from Ireland with his mum, the ink from his parents divorce barely dry. Harry himself was getting used to having a father figure around for the first time. His mum's boyfriend, Robin, having started living with them a week before Niall settled into the council terrace two doors down. Theirs was a friendship built on mutual father figure irritation and being mummy's boys at heart. They soon became inseparable, Harry even joining Niall and his brother, Greg, at Rams matches whenever his Da was able to pop over to take them to one. It was their thing, had been since before the divorce.

Harry came out to Niall when he was fifteen and Niall being the wonderful friend that he was, asked how he knew and offered to be a test kissing subject. They never really stopped after that first kiss. From kissing to Harry's mum telling them that Niall had to kip in the spare room once she'd found a used condom in Harry's bin that he'd forgotten to empty to hide the evidence of. They fell into a relationship really, and lately, it's sort of felt like they're falling out of it. Not the friendship, just the extras part.

The whistle blows for half time and Niall knocks back the rest of his lager with a long burp. Harry puts his bookwork on the table and thinks about what Danny said in his last email, about how lucky he is. He crawls over to Niall's end of the sofa, swings his legs over Niall's lap and kisses him before he can think about why he's doing it too much. Niall sputters for a minute, then eases into it, kissing Harry back in a way that feels like _them_. Comfortable and easy and. . . nice. 

It makes Harry frown a bit, that the word "nice" comes into the equation, so he starts grinding down on Niall's lap. He gets a hand under Niall's shirt and palms at his warm skin, tickling his fingers over Niall's sides like Harry knows turns him on if he does it just right. Niall's hand fits over the small of Harry's back, fingertips slipping under the elastic of his pants, grabs at Harry's bum, pulling him in. Harry loses himself in Niall for a bit. Can feel himself - and Niall for that matter - getting hard as he strips Niall's shirt off, his blond hair all tangled when he does so. He'll have to remember to call Lou later and see when she's free to come redo Niall's roots. Hopefully she'll bring Lux, he hasn't seen her in a forever since Lou opened up her salon in Hull, moving back home when her marriage went tits up. 

"Haz," Niall's voice breaks through his thoughts and fuck, why he went off on that tangent while still kissing Niall isn't a good thing. He skates his lips across Niall's jaw and down his neck, shifting into Niall's touch as he squeezes at Harry's bum a little more. 

"Harry," Niall calls his name again, just as Harry fits his mouth over the curve between Niall's neck and shoulder. He sucks a little, presses his teeth in as Niall's moans vibrate under his lips.

Niall's hand moves to Harry's hip, squeezing as he pulls back, Harry mouthing over his collarbone now. "Haz, the games back on, can we pause this?"

Harry sits there for a minute, rests his head against Niall's chest as he hears the crowd start up and the whistle blow for kick off. His hands still between them where he was palming at Niall before. He's not all that hard, not really. Barely a half chub. Now they've stopped kissing, Harry realises he wasn't really feeling _it_ that much himself, either. 

Niall's hand pats at Harry's back, pushes his hair behind his ear. "You can stay for a cuddle if you want, but have you got a hair tie? Your bloody mane's a gone a bit wild from me having my hand in it,"

Harry sighs, stripping the orange band from his wrist, bunching his hair up and behind his head staying there for a bit before Niall's shifting under him, yelling at the ref's further bad calls. It's not long before he's kissing Niall's cheek and shifting back to his side of the sofa. 

"We'll continue that later, yeah?" Niall asks, cracking open another tin. 

"Yeah. Later's good," Harry replies, nodding. Niall's eyes are still firmly on the screen and he's got his shirt back on already. It's not even that cold in their flat. 

Harry picks up his bookwork from the table, settling back into his corner after fluffing up one of the cushions. His cat, Brian, lands on his feet, curling up with his head over Harry's ankle. 

When they're finally in bed, Niall snoring soft on his side with Brian on the pillow between them, it's only as Harry's finally drifting off that he realises they never actually shagged at all.

What keeps him awake though, is the fact that he doesn't really mind that they didn't.

> From: setzerstrays@gmail.com  
>  To: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com 
> 
> Don't know if it's luck or laziness mate.
> 
> Don't know if I should be telling you that either. . .
> 
> H xx

"Don't be angry with me!" Is the first thing Louis says when he bursts into Zayn's office.

Zayn doesn't lift his head from where he's been playing 2048 on his iPad for the past few hours, ignoring ten or so emails that have come in from his father and countless phone calls he's letting go straight to message bank. His phone hasn't stopped vibrating with texts since he got in at eight. He hasn't checked one.

"Why would I ever be angry with you, Lou?" He's lost again. He refuses to Google how to actually win at this game. He's a smart lad, he'll figure it out. Or delete the app before it drives him insane. One or the other.

Louis' at his side shaking the mouse at the desk, clearing the screensaver and bringing up the page of lolcats Zayn had open, finding a few particularly punny ones he thought Henry might enjoy. Louis just shakes his head, shoving Zayn over a bit to get to the keyboard. His fingers fly across the keys and then he's leaning back out of Zayn's space with a "there". 

"Vinyl Countdown: RECORD SAVING CONCERT"

"I just mentioned that he should utilise his assets and his assets being music type people and how they'd probably do things for him because he's Harry and he's just so bloody charming and-"

Zayn's brows rise up under his hairline where he's got his hair out today, too lazy to style it. "And instead of just carrying on the picketing out the front which my father was slightly annoyed about, he's holding a concert with Ed Sheeran and The 1975 with an after party hosted by Nick Grimshaw and Annie Mac?"

"Don't forget Payno, he's warming up for them," Louis adds pointing to the screen with a grin, realising a second later that pointing _that_ particular fact out is probably not a good thing.

"Oh yes," Zayn says with a laugh, "Can't forget one of my best friends doing a gig for free either!"

He keeps laughing. It's the only thing he can do with how he's now picturing the steam shooting out of his father's ears. The conversation he's going to have to have with him and just how badly this will affect the company's image.

"You. . . You don't sound all that angry?" Louis says, fidgeting with the action figures of Thor and Loki Zayn has on his desk. Yaser only tolerates them because they're collectors pieces and show Zayn has "personality" which he's apparently lacking when buttering up clients. The fact is, Zayn doesn't _like_ most of the clients his father sends his way. He'd much rather be playing music or listening to it not talking to people whose music is all by numbers. 

No wonder Harry's always so happy when Zayn goes into the store. He's surrounded by what he loves to do everyday.

It may or may not be the reason that Zayn's so adamant they could find a way to work with Harry, not just shut him down.

He hadn't actually meant for his father to take swallow up Harry's store and morph it into some awful Musictown version where prices would be triple the norm. He thought maybe they could help each other out. Maybe have a small selection of records that bands put out nowadays to one side, and pay Harry some sort of finders salary if they had orders come in through Musictown for special requests. Zayn hadn't actually thought of a way to bring the idea to his father but. . . he thought he had time to work on it. 

Then the picketing started a week ago and Yaser was on Zayn's case about moving up the takeover, making sure Harry had no way to refuse. 

He _made_ Zayn wine and dine the manager of Harry's bank - how his dad even _knew_ that was beyond him - and of course they'd run into Harry on the street after.

Harry'd thrown his bottle of water all over Zayn's face.

Then looked mortified that he'd done so, offering Zayn one of those ridiculous scarfs he had wound around his head to mop the mess up before stuttering an apology and running off.

Harry hadn't spoken to him since. 

When Zayn went into the store a day later to explain at the very least, Harry just walked out the back and wouldn't come out for the rest of the day. Zayn left an hour after Harry's official closing time, flipping the sign and the lock on his way out.

The sad thing was, Zayn was the only customer in the store the whole time. Telling really, that Harry was now clutching at straws with the picketing and the upcoming concert. Zayn knew how much money his father had behind him with the company and Harry. . . well Harry's record store was likely to be a blip on the radar by the end of things.

"This isn't right, you know," Zayn says softly, rubbing at his eyes, watching a firework of colours light up behind them. 

"You can't blame a lad for trying, Zayn. This isn't just his business, yeah? This is Harry's life and I don't know if it's just because I actually _like_ him, but this is different from all the other ones. Like. . . I just want to help him," Louis says and Zayn nods in agreeance.

"I don't know what else I can do though, you know? Dad's so adamant about knocking Harry out of the picture and I've got nothing else. I've tried putting him off, I've tried working all the bloody angles to get Dad onside and nothing. I even sent Harry you, and Liam loves him and I just," Zayn groans in frustration. "Nothing I do seems to help. Nothing,"

Louis is quiet for a moment which is sort of worrying because Louis never is. Unless he's up to something.

"What?" Zayn asks, when he finally stops looking up at the roof in hopes that it'll have some answers. 

Louis is smiling, one cheek lifted more than the other which means one of his canines is on show. Makes him look sort of wicked in a way. "Your dad still got that great big warehouse filled with signed shit that people have given the company over the years?"

Zayn nods. It's filled with junk that visiting execs and things have dropped off, instore signings, things for competitions and stuff that his dad did back in the early years when the company was finding its footing. 

"Reckon some of that might go for a few pound, yeah? Maybe a few more?"

"Yeah," Zayn says with a frown, not exactly understanding where Louis is going with this.

Louis just grins harder, definitely looking a little predatory now. "How fast do you think you can get your hands on the keys then, auction starts at two just before that band of Harry's cousin's goes on,"

"Goes where? What auction?" Zayn splutters as Louis shifts from where he's been tapping away at the keyboard again.

"The 'Musical Memorabilia' auction that Vinyl Destination is now holding before the concert. It promises loads of stuff mate, best we have it all at Harry's store before he finds out you're the one donating it, yeah?"

Zayn's already tapping out a message to his sister, asking if she can find the keys and leave them out for him to pick up in an hour.

> From: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com  
>  To: setzerstrays@gmail.com 
> 
> I think I think about you more than I should.
> 
> I just. . . it's late and I opened a bottle of red and. . . I don't know. 
> 
> It's just me and Tiger at home and I guess I miss having someone?
> 
> It's not weird that we talk this much, yeah? That I talk to you more than I talk to my family - though that's not saying much with how dad and I are of late but.
> 
> I'm really glad you're my friend, Henry. 
> 
> Really glad.
> 
> Danny x

Harry may or may not be freaking out.

How he let Louis and Niall talk him into this bloody concert idea is beyond him. A concert. For his store. Nothing really, just Ed bloody Sheeran who Niall's met through working at the studio and The 1975 because Harry's mum is old friends with Matty's mum and to top it all off? Annie and Nick dj'ing. All offering their time and talent for free. For Harry.

Just any other sunday at Vinyl Destination really.

Harry's definitely freaking out.

There's at least a hundred if not more people in the shared car park out front, Harry's fairly certain he saw Niall talking with his copper mate, Bressie, and now they're shutting half the street down, squad cars on either side as they wave on traffic on the one remaining lane open.

So that's a thing.

Harry's bloody store saving concert shutting down half a bloody street in Manchester like it's no big deal. 

Harry's most definitely, positively freaking out.

Louis and Liam are sat on two ridiculously tall stools out front with a gigantic jar between them that's filled with all sorts of colourful banknotes. Harry's certain he can see more than a fair share of twenty pound notes, even a few bright euro oranges and greens, too. 

Who the bloody hell is even _here_ with notes like those lying around?

Harry sits down again, puts his head between his legs and tries to breathe.

There's something wet and cool at the back of his neck and he's reaching up and putting his hand over the top of someone elses squeezing gently. He doesn't recognise the rings underneath his palm, none of Harry's mates are big on jewelry except him, really. It's that that has him letting go like he's had a shock. He looks up to the side straight into hazel eyes that make the words of thanks disappear from his mouth.

"The enemy," he finds himself saying instead, albeit a bit hoarse from how quiet he's been since he got up and thanked everyone for coming and introduced his cousin Ben's band "Concept," as the opening act. The 1975 are on now, Harry's fairly certain he can hear the strains of Robbers starting out.

Zayn laughs, though it sounds a bit hollow. A bit sad and that can't be right. He's the reason Harry's had to bloody hold a concert and auction he didn't even know about. Even Caroline who manages his local set up a few free barrels of beer to the side that people have been buying for five pound a pint. She's giving Harry all the proceeds. 

He really does have great mates.

"You looked a bit worse for wear, mate," Zayn says with a smile that Harry definitely doesn't think is fond. Not at all.

"I am. I was. Thanks," Harry finally manages to spit out and Zayn's hand squeezes the damp flannel on his neck a little in reassurance. 

His finger tip traces down Harry's neck with a soft intake of breath sending shivers down Harry's spine. "What's that?"

Harry feels his face flush bright with heat. "Nothing, just a scratch from Brian,"

He tilts his head to the side, giving Zayn a better view. It is an impressive scratch. 

"Brian?"

"My cat. He was a stray, used to hang around the bakery I worked at when I was younger and would follow me home at the end of my shift, always disappearing after a feed and appearing at the bakery the next day. Brought him with me when I moved to the city. He's proper old now, gets a bit cantankerous when you roll over onto his side of the pillow. Like he should even _have_ a pillow," Harry says with a wry grin. He could probably talk about Brian all day, even if it is to Zayn.

"Your cat's a stray called Brian," Zayn says sounding a little far away as Harry looks up, Zayn's fingertip still over Harry's skin.

He licks at his lips before answering, mouth dry because Zayn is acting strange. Even by Harry standards. 

Zayn shakes himself a bit and throws the flannel on the counter behind Harry. He shifts back and, Christ, has he got some pretty ink. Harry's always found Zayn to be attractive, even though he doesn't want to, but there's something about seeing him here with his skinny jeans and black vest with the arm cutouts so low he just saw Zayn's bloody _nipple_ that makes Harry's mouth dry. Makes him wonder about what other ink could be hiding under his clothes. What that flash of writing on his hip might be that Harry spied as Zayn ran his hand through his hair, all soft curls pulled over to one side of his head.

It's not fair that someone he's supposed to dislike immensely is so bloody hot.

"Big night ahead, yeah?" Zayn asks, teeth rubbing over his bottom lip and how did Harry not notice how plush it was before?

Harry nods and the crowd roars outside, lyrics to Chocolate barely able to be heard above the din.

"Should you even be here?" Harry asks when the quiet between them gets too much, the screams from outside where The 1975 are finishing up finally dying down. It sounds a lot harsher than he meant it to be and Zayn flinches which. . . fuck, Harry's not _this_ person. He's not.

"I just mean, like, this is all to benefit you not getting what you want, yeah?"

Zayn shrugs. "You don't always get what you want. Isn't that what Mick says?"

"Sort of," Harry says and this feels familiar almost. Like he's had this conversation before. Liam's calling Zayn's name, and Zayn turns before Harry can ask about it, then he forgets almost immediately as his eyes pick out the large tiger Zayn has inked on his arm. 

Tiger. 

Danny has a tattoo of a tiger. He'd told Harry that a few months back, said he saw it when he went into the shop with his mate and had to get it there and then. A constant reminder of his cat at home.

It doesn't mean that Zayn is Danny or whatever. Loads of people have tiger tattoos.

Not all of them have the exact same tattoo as what Danny had sent him a close cropped photo of when it was done and about to be covered in cling film. . . .

But Danny wouldn't lie about his name would he?

Even if Harry did.

"Haz! They need you out front! Ed's about to go on!" Louis shouts from the door and whatever puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place in Harry's mind scatter.

He has a job to do.

Saving his business.

Much more important than a bloody tiger tattoo.

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>  To: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com
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> Which arm did you get that tiger tattoo on again?
> 
> > DRAFT COPY
> 
> >DRAFT DELETED  
> 

Zayn's father is possibly having an aneurysm.

On the other hand, the Malik family dinner table has never been so quiet.

Not even when Doniya broke the news that she was pregnant at eighteen and she was keeping the baby _and_ going on to Oxford like she'd planned.

Not even when Zayn had come out about liking lads more that birds.

Not even, when Safaa asked what exactly fuck meant and why anyone would want to fuck the police like they said in Zayn's music he played before his parents got home. She was seven. He was grounded for three months after that. And his iPod was wiped clean.

This though. This is a silence so loud you can hear the telly in the house two doors down. And there's at least two tennis courts and a pool between them. 

"Are you sure about that, Sunshine?" His mum asks, voice all soft and warm but with a bit of apprehension thrown in.

He nods, still looking at his father whose face is so red Zayn's honestly waiting for steam to start pouring out of his ears.

"I don't love this job, mum. I don't love my life. Shouldn't I be spending the stupid amount of hours I do at work doing something I love?" 

"'Course love, we understand that. It's just. . . bit of a shock I suppose," his mum leads off, her hand a warm reassuring weight above his own, where it has been since he said he had an announcement to make.

Probably should have waited until after they'd all eaten. His mum's chicken tikka congealing a bit on his plate. He'd been looking forward all week to eating it.

"Doniya's so much better suited for this, yeah? What else did she go to uni and do that business degree for? That shits all over my bloody diploma from College doesn't it?" he tries and Doniya smiles, Maira sat on her lap, still stabbing at her greens with a frown. 

"And Maira's at nursery now and Doniya knows loads about the company, she's basically run the accounts department since she set foot in there last year, yeah?"

Doniya ducks her head, pressing her lips to Maira's dark curls. "Tom says so, and he'd know considering he's been the family accountant since dad began," she looks back across the table to where Zayn's sat, her dark eyes shining and Zayn knew he was right about this. Has known forever how much she wants it. He's never been happier to give the whole lot to her. Even if it means he'll be the family outcast for a bit. Another thing he can take off her hands. 

There's a loud scrape of wood on tile as his dad pushes his chair back. "I'll see you on Monday then, Doniya. Eight o'clock sharp. My office." His father says, standing up from the table and leaving the room without giving anyone a second glance. Not even when their mum call's for him to come back.

The silence changes then, gets a bit heavier and settles into Zayn's skin, leeching into his bones. 

His mum presses her lips to the side of his head, just like Doniya did with Maira seconds before. "Don't worry about it, Sunshine, he'll come around. You just concentrate on sorting out what it is you want from your life, yeah? The rest will come,"

Zayn nods and picks up his fork, pushing his greens around much like his four year old niece was just doing.

Safaa's still eating quietly, head in a book as usual, probably missed the whole thing. At least Waliyha did by staying at a mates house tonight. There's another sound of a chair moving, then Doniya's leaning over him, arms around his neck and he breathes in deep, hugging her back.

"Thank you," Doniya whispers quiet against his ear. "You don't know how much this means-"

"Yeah I do," he answers, her sweet smelling perfume filling his senses as her long hair makes a curtain around them both. "He never would have asked you. Would have kept me in that job until I hated myself and he was happy and I was married off to some client or something,"

Doniya laughs, pulling away and slapping at his arm. "He never would have made you marry a client. There's no way mum would have let that happen,"

Zayn rolls his eyes, finally feeling a bit lighter. This worry about telling his dad he wanted to quit had been tying him down all week. Well, a week and a bit. Since Harry was able to pay off a substantial amount of his loan with the bank and have some to spare for sprucing up Vinyl Destination on the inside. Louis'd made a great business plan, Zayn had given it a final look over himself, being the one with a better head for business out of the both of them. Especially when it came to legit matters and not those that could be swayed by data entry being juggled a bit. 

"Unless they came with kids though. You know how keen she is on grandchildren, Zayn," she teases, smacking at Maira's hand where her daughter is attempting to hide her peas under a pile of rice. 

Maira frowns, poking out her tongue at her mother as Zayn opens up his napkin, quietly pushing his peas into the centre of it from the side of his plate. Just like he did when he was Maira's age and hated peas with a fiery vengence. He still doesn't love them now but her answering grin and copying of his actions has him popping a few more in the napkin envelope like the coconspirator he is. 

"Don't know how Tiger would take to having a sibling," Zayn says once he's finished and picks at the chicken instead. 

Doniya tuts. "It's a bloody cat, Zayn. Just because you carry on like it's a kid doesn't make it so. You still cooking up it's dinner with better food than your own?"

Zayn shrugs and thinks about the stash of containers in his freezer that outnumber his frozen food boxes. Containers all labelled salmon risotto, rice and cod, chicken and veg that aren't for human consumption. All for Tiger and her delicate tummy. All from recipes Henry - no, _Harry_ \- had sent.

Harry and his cat Brian and the stupid near year and a bit relationship they'd had without even having to work at it.

Harry and his boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Even if Harry and Henry _were_ the same person. It didn't mean anything when there was a James/Niall in the picture.

Not even if Zayn had flirted with the idea of liking Henry. 

Henry hadn't answered his last email and Zayn hadn't bothered to pen a new one since the day that Harry mentioned his cat and the bakery and Niall. 

There were too many coincidences for Harry and Henry not to be the same person.

That the Henry Zayn had slowly fallen for was also the same Harry that Zayn had near cost him his livelihood. 

The Harry that called Zayn the Enemy but not always like he meant it like that.

Still. He had Tiger. He had a roof over his head. He might not have had love or anything like it, but he had that.

It was enough.

> To: setzerstray@gmail.com  
>  From: askmeifigiveamiaow@gmail.com
> 
> I miss you. 
> 
> Harry or Henry or whoever you are. I miss you.
> 
> > DRAFT COPY  
>  > DRAFT DELETED

"You're leaving?"

"Mad, innit! Bloody days notice, not even long enough to find a place, yeah? But Ed said I could kip at his for a bit. He's off on tour in Australia anyway so it's more like house sitting but it'll give me time to find somewhere."

"Right," Harry says, watching as Niall empties their wardrobe of his few suits and the white button down Harry bought him last Christmas. Also, by the looks of things, _their_ last Christmas. 

"Can't believe he showed his bloody producer my tape. Should have made you destroy it after the pub that night. I was pissed singing that song and Ben says they love my sound," Niall stops folding one his green jumper with the duck on the front. Harry'd picked that up at a trash and treasure he'd been to in Wales. Towns name was longer than the amount of people who lived there. 

Harry watches from where he's sat on their bed - his bed now, he supposes - as Niall's grin grows. 

"My bloody _sound_ , Harry! Just me on that guitar I've had since I was fifteen in a noisy pub in Camden recorded on your shitty iPhone and. . .my bloody sound," he says again, shaking his head.

"I bought you that guitar," Harry says softly, his chest hurts and he feels. . . lost. Set adrift by Niall's big news that he _had_ to tell Harry now, could he close the store early? 

Niall finishes folding the jumper, shoving it on top of a bunch of others that Harry knows won't all fit. They'll both have to sit on it like they did the last time they flew over to Mullingar for Niall's older brother's wedding. Two years ago. He can remember the flight with Niall's fingernails pressed deep into Harry's palm where he held on too tight from the moment the wheels left the tarmac until they touched down. Niall hated flights, but he loved his brother so they went.

"I'll just take a bit, yeah? I'll come up and get the rest when I'm settled," Niall says, throwing underwear on the small mountain of a pile now.

Harry wraps his arms around himself. It's only the end of October and it's been warm out today but here, now, he feels a chill cross his skin leaving goose flesh in its path. "Were you even going to ask me?" he whispers. Niall doesn't pause from where he's holding two pairs of mostly holey black pants in each hand, probably trying to consider which is worth taking and which is worth throwing when they really should both end up in the bin.

"What?" He asks in return, throwing them both back in the drawer without looking. 

"Were you even going to ask me? Was I even a thought?" Harry swipes at his left eye where one bloody traitorous tear has escaped his stinging eyes. He's being ridiculous crying about this. He doesn't even feel all that sad about Niall going, he's happy for him. Really.

Niall must catch the movement though, because he's dropping the aftershave he'd picked up off the top of their dresser and wrapping himself around Harry on the bed instead. "Hey, yeah, yes. Of course I thought about it, of course!"

"Well, why didn't you?" Harry asks, mostly to the tangle of scratchy hair on Niall's chest where Niall's pulled him in close.

Niall laughs a bit, it's soft and sort of sad. "I love you, yeah. I've loved you since. . . fuck, I can't even remember a time when I haven't, but you have to admit Harry, it's not the same as it was,"

Harry pouts, squeezes his arms around Niall's waist a little tighter. "Yes, but all relationships do that. That's what happens, isn't it? You love someone and it sort of dulls a bit, not as bright as it was in the start,"

Niall hums, his chin pressing down on Harry's head. "I love you. I'll always love you, but I think you and I both know that we haven't been _in_ love for a while. Maybe longer than either of us would care to admit,"

Harry doesn't say anything, just blinks extra hard at the tears he knows are waiting to fall. He wants to be angry at Naill about making sense of all this but he can't. Not when he knows it's true. Has felt as much the same about it himself, even if he wouldn't admit it first.

"We're friends, great friends and I knew when this decision to up and leave was so easy to make that it meant we'd have to change what we are to each other. But we'll always be mates, yeah?"

"Best mates," Harry says after a sniffle, voice cracking.

"Best." Niall echoes and they sit there for a bit while Niall pretends Harry isn't crying but still rubs a hand over his back and Harry muffles any sound in Niall's chest, wetting the front of his shirt until it's probably see through. 

"Still hurts though," Niall murmurs, lips wet at Harry's forehead with his own tears and Harry nods. 

"We can. . . we can still snuggle, yeah?" Harry asks because yes, he knows they haven't been in love for a while and they've been too lazy, too complacent to do anything about it before but Harry needs this. Needs this from Niall right now like he needed it when his Dad didn't come by that first Christmas after Robin moved in and how Niall needed it when Greg decided to go back to Mullingar for good, a year after they'd moved to Holmes Chappel. It's what they did as friends in the beginning, it's how they can be there for each other now, even if it's them tearing each other apart.

Even if it doesn't feel all too much like a break up, more a slip and slide away. 

Niall nods, lying them both back on the bed, rearranging legs and arms for ultimate snuggling position, and it's where they stay until Harry wakes in the morning. 

He's alone, but he knew he would be. They'd talked until late into the night about Niall leaving early and about how they'd split everything up. How Harry would come down in a month once Niall was settled and they'd go out. Hit the town. 

The ache in his chest is mostly gone, dulled down to a catch in his breath, a bit of a lump to swallow around. He's broken up with his boyfriend of _way_ too many years, or maybe Niall broke up with him but it doesn't feel as bad as it should. Harry isn't sure how he _should_ feel, anyway. It's not as if he has anything to base a heartbreak on. There's only ever been Niall. 

He showers and pretends he doesn't notice that Niall's toothbrush is gone, his hair wax, too. He just pushes his hair treatments and ball of hair ties over until the space is gone. It lightens something in his chest as he gets dressed and heads to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He stops when he's at the fridge, a page from the local paper cutout and stuck on with the tagline underlined in red. It's from the concert, Harry knew that it had garnered a bit of public notice, Nick had mentioned it on his show once or twice. Fearne Cotton had apparently turned up, Zane Lowe in tow. 

There not the ones in the photo though. He can barely remember when it happened, when Zayn was standing beside him, arm around Harry's shoulder, smiles on both their faces. It might have been when Liam was up on decks, spinning some album that Zayn had given him and another that he'd bought from Harry's store. He'd just been so happy, Liam was up there killing it and people were enjoying it, and Zayn was smiling more than Harry'd ever seen when he'd been in store. They'd separated not long after, Niall having arrived and dragged Harry onto the dancefloor just as Liam had finished his set and Nick had started. He hadn't seen Zayn again that night.

The tagline is one of those clever, witty things, hinting at Zayn and Harry being Manchesters next music power couple which is ridiculous, really. It doesn't help that Niall's drawn a bloody big heart around them both.

Christ, they'd only broken up less than twenty four hours ago and already he was trying to what. . . set Harry up?

Even if Harry was interested - which he wasn't, he was just _dumped_ or something like it - it still doesn't make up for the fact that Zayn is the enemy.

Was.

He'd heard from Liam a few days ago that Zayn had quit the family business, his sister taking over as manager of the Manchester store and a half a dozen others the Maliks owned. 

So he wasn't exactly the enemy.

He wasn't exactly Danny either.

Danny, who Harry had sort of fallen for with his cryptic sense of humor and his love of music and his ridiculous tattoos and the absolute pedestal he put Tiger on.

So what if they really _were_ the same person.

Harry couldn't put together the Danny he'd flirted harmlessly with for near a year and Zayn who he'd fought with for just as long. He couldn't.

He slams the fridge door in a huff, making it shudder a bit and finishes off making his tea, glaring at the newspaper article as he does.

He doesn't remove it though.

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Zayn drives by Harry's store a few times over the next three months. He closed down for a week when he had some maintenance done. Floors stripped and polished. Mould taken from the back room and another week where they put everything back in order. He see's Niall's blond hair about the storefront one day. He's not there the next.

Or the week after when Zayn does his "definitely not regular it's just on the way" drive past.

He hears from Liam that Harry's hired a new lad to help out. 

Louis emails him a link to Harry's website and a screen shot of all the online requests he's getting for albums and offers to trade on rare items and more.

He also sends Zayn a picture of Brian, Harry's cat.

He's just as adorable as Zayn had thought he would be. Then again, that could be the fact that it's Harry holding him in the picture, his smile soft and his green eyes just as piercing as they are when Zayn's looked into them before.

He checks his email and there's nothing new from Henry. Though it's not like Zayn knows if he worked it out. If Zayn's reaction to Harry talking about Brian was as visceral as it felt to Zayn at the time.

It's not surprising that he doesn't hear from Harry either. Even if Harry got to keep his business, it wasn't like he was ever going to want to stay friends with Zayn after. Even if they do have a bunch of friends in common now, and who's fault was that?

Zayn finds a new route to drive to his favourite chinese shop. Starts buying Tiger tins of bloody Whiskas and pretends he doesn't care when Tiger turns her nose up at it until he feeds her the chicken off his plate.

His chest hurts and no amount of milk before he heads to bed at night clears it up.

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Three months and he's heard nothing from Danny. Nothing from Zayn but he wasn't expecting it. He's not sure why he hasn't called or even emailed Danny to check that he's right. He's fairly certain he's right.

He may have sort of asked Liam about Zayn's tiger and where he got it and ended up hearing a rehash of how Zayn had found Tiger and how much he loves the damn cat that he had learned from Danny the night he found her.

He may have sort of hinted to Louis that he liked Zayn. 

Okay, so Louis had dragged him out on the last night Niall was in town when they'd finished the refurb of the shop. Maybe he'd let Louis ply him with far too many shots in celebration of Niall recording his first EP. _Maybe_ he'd spilled something about knowing who the "real Zayn was." Maybe. Maybe he did all of those things and also say yes to Louis sending a photo of him holding Brian like a great big "I figured it out" sign written in the sky. Maybe he did all those things in hopes he wouldn't actually have to _do_ anything of substance like. . . talk to Zayn.

Maybe he thought Zayn might make the first move.

It's what he ends up whining to Niall about on the phone one night when Brian's ignoring him sat in front of the fireplace absorbing the heat, Harry on the sofa in his best red flannel pyjamas. 

"But, I know this is bad and all because you're my boyfriend-"

"Ex, Harry. Have been for a while now, it's good. Go on," Niall interrupts and Harry can almost imagine what he looks like even though he's so far away. His blond hair all messed up from running his hands through it after a round of radio interviews in Ireland earlier, tucked up on his dad's sofa with a cup of something herbal with loads of honey to help his voice. The Rams last match on the telly turned down low. Sometimes he misses Niall like a physical ache. 

He really needs a friend right now, which is why he called in the first place.

"Yes, well. I flirted with him, or Danny, whatever, I flirted with him a bit in email and he'd flirt back and it was innocent, yeah? But it felt like something."

"You did this when we were together?"

Harry blushes, fiddling with a loose button on his top. "A little. Nothing serious, just banter but-"

"Harry, you flirted. You're a natural bloody flirt, it's what endears people to you, that and your bloody dimples and curls," Niall laughs and he can hear Bobby cursing up a storm in the background. Something football related, obviously. 

"Why hasn't he called or something then? I've basically told him who I am or was, and he hasn't said _anything_ ," Harry whines, Brian rolling over onto his back, tail swishing side to side for a moment before he stills again.

"Maybe he's waiting for you to do it? You did pretend you hated him-"

Harry sits up straight, feet hitting the floor. "I did not hate him. I referred to him purely as The Enemy because he _was_ the enemy. I never didn't like him."

Niall's cackling. "You called him The Enemy for a year, and you think he would come away from that with something different to you _not_ hating him?" 

Harry huffs, throwing himself back against the sofa, eyes closing tight. He's always hated when Niall's been right about things and Harry doesn't want him to be. This is definitely one of those times. 

"But-"

"Oh for. . . Look, he asked me not to say anything, and I don't think he knew who I was or he might have said different. But you know all those items at the auction?"

Harry hums his answer. Louis had got in contact with Harry's list of sellers and they'd donated a bunch of items that had eventually been what had taken Harry from settling his debts to having money left over. On top of what he'd earned from the concert alone. 

"It was Zayn, yeah? All of that stuff, all of that stuff was from Zayn's families bloody collection or something and he bought it all back. All of it, just so his Dad wouldn't know and he could help you."

Harry's quiet, eyes focused on the snow falling outside the big bay window of the flat, the one reason apart from the kitchen that they'd rented here in the first place years ago. Niall can't mean _everything_. . . surely some of his contacts donated a few things? Surely Zayn couldn't have paid that _much_ for things he already owned. 

Harry had seen the final amount. It wasn't small by any means. Substantial, was the word Louis used. Substantial and very, very kind.

Harry'd have to pay it all back. He couldn't. . . he wouldn't _owe_ Zayn anything. Not like this. 

"I'll have to sell. I'll can get by on the internet sales now Louis' set it up. Mum might be able to help me with a loan-"

"Oh for fuck sakes, Harry! He fucking _loves_ you alright? You can stop all your plans about paying the bloke back when he clearly doesn't want you to. You only had to see the way he looked at you that night to know that he felt something other than whatever it was you two had built up in the bloody tug of war over money. Didn't you look at that clipping I put on the fridge? He looks at you the way I used to. The way I remember you looking at me when we first started out. He looks at you like you're the only one that matters." Niall finishes softly, as if it hurts a bit to admit and Harry feels like shit then, forgetting that Niall's feelings were just as smashed about as his own when they broke up. That Harry waffling on about Zayn and the maybes of it all wouldn't exactly be at the top of the list of conversations to have. 

"Niall," Harry starts, but Nialls already shushing him.

"It's fine. Well, it's not, but. Just, call him him, Harry? Call him or email or send a bloody carrier pigeon. Don't let this be one of those things you regret, yeah?"

Harry doesn't answer he doesn't think Niall needs him to.

> MESSAGE:  
>  Hi Zayn, I got your number from Louis um.  
>  Could you come to the store tomorrow? round ten?  
>  Bring Tiger
> 
> H

Zayn isn't sure if he's going to go at all until about an hour before he has to be there. He spent the night before reading and rereading old emails from Henry - Harry. He annoyed Tiger so much with keeping her on his lap that she stalked off and hid under his bed, only coming out when he popped one of the refilled containers of salmon and cous cous that he'd made her the weekend before.

He'd given all the tinned food to the shelter he knew Harry volunteered at, the same one they'd met online in the forums as Danny and Henry. 

He parks across the road, carrying Tiger in his arms bundled up in one of her favourite blankets from the cold. It hasn't snowed yet today, but there's forecast for more and the air feels like it usually does before they get a heavy flurry. He really hopes he's done with whatever Harry wants before then. Especially if it's just to yell at him about pretending to be someone he wasn't online. Even if Harry did the same thing. 

Why was he even showing up again?

He opens the door anyway, the bell tolling their entrance in that familiar way that he's missed since he last stepped over the threshold. Tiger meows loudly in his arms and there's an answering call further in the store that looks a lot the same as it did when Zayn was last here. The floors are shinier and it's obvious the walls and ceiling have had a coat of paint but it smells the same. Like dust and the seventies - well, that's what Harry had always called it. Zayn prefered to label it as dirt. 

It's weird how much he's missed it as he breathes in deep again.

"Hi," Harry's voice interrupts his thoughts, Zayn turning from where he'd been gazing at the photos from the concert that cover the wall behind the counter. 

He'd forgotten how good Harry looked. His hair's tied up in a bun at the back of his head, a few strands tucked behind his ear and thin ringlet hanging just shy of the middle of his forehead. His nose has this great black mark of dust or dirt or something over it, like he'd brushed his hand there, only a moment earlier, ridding himself of an itch. He's in those stupid black and white striped jeans that Zayn is _certain_ there is a photo of at his mum's house of her wearing at some concert with his dad in the late eighties. His top half's covered in an oversized black knitted jumper with great bobbles of white that make Zayn wonder if Louis had helped him do his wash, ending up with Harry having a set of his own "sparkle" clothes. It's a bit grey at the top and at his sleeves which is probably from leaning on stock in the back room, how he used to. How Harry be covered in a layer of dust and still one of the sexiest people Zayn's ever set eyes on is beyond him.

But he is. He really is.

Zayn has to swallow hard before he answers with his own quick "Hullo," in return.

Harry smiles, taking a step forward and pointing at the bundle in Zayn's arms. "That Tiger?"

Zayn nods as a rather portly, stubby footed cat makes its way around Harry's legs, rubbing himself around Zayn's feet, sniffing and purring as he goes. "Brian, yeah?" 

Harry hums in answer, already taking Tiger from Harry's arms, rubbing his face against hers in greeting. "Hello, girl, I've heard a lot about you. Is your daddy still feeding you that horrible tin stuff like Uncle Liam told me he was?"

"Are you having my friend spy on me?" 

Harry shrugs, still looking at Tiger as he answers. "What Liam reports about a cats welfare is of his concern,"

Zayn huffs, bloody Liam. Did they all know what Harry and he hadn't even wanted to begin to admit to? "I've been making her that plan of yours again. She only lasted a week on that tin stuff. Kept turning her nose up until I fed her off my plate,"

Harry laughs, Tiger purring a little as she settles in Harry's arms, Harry rubbing her ear soft between his fingers. Zayn gets head butted in the calf a few times by Brian until he picks him up, getting a faceful of cat as he does so. Aparently, Brian's got a lot in common with Harry with the way he greets new people. 

"Brian's missed you an awful lot," Harry says, finally catching Zayn's eyes. 

Zayn knows he's not talking about Brian. Not really.

"Tiger's been a bit lost without all of your new recipes. Getting a bit bored of the old stuff, I'd say," Zayn says, taking a step closer to Harry as Tiger bounds out of his arms, sniffing at the floor and then sizing Brian up as he follows soon after.

They stare at each other, the store quiet apart from the sounds of two cats getting to know each other. A few meows here, an extra swish of a tail there. Then Brian lying down, baring his throat to Tiger like it's nothing at all. 

Thankfully, he had Tiger desexed when she was younger, especially with the way she ends up rubbing herself all over Brian, letting him lick at her face like it's the best thing in the world.

"Thank you, for the auction and, you know," Harry says a little awkwardly. Zayn shrugs. He knows how Harry feels.

"How'd you know?"

"Niall told me. Told me a lot, actually," Harry says and Zayn thinks maybe he got this wrong. Maybe Harry just wants to be mates. Zayn isn't sure he can handle just that. 

"We're not together anymore. He's just a friend, a good friend now," Harry says hurriedly, and Zayn truly has to work on letting his emotions show on his face if he's this telling.

"Oh, sorry?" 

Harry laughs, a titter of a thing. "No, it's fine. It was a long time coming. Just. . . got complacent really. Like I told you once or twice I suppose,"

"Danny you mean," Zayn says, biting at his lip, watching as the Tiger lets Brian clean her cheek and neck. "How'd you know about, you know, me and him or me as him?"

Harry's cheeks pink. "Your ink, yeah? I saw it at the concert. Asked Louis 'bout it. How'd you know?"

"Sort of the same, yeah? You mentioned Brian and you talked about the bakery. I saw you with Niall though, dancing? Moved about each other like you'd known each other forever, no hesitation. Was nice,"

"Yeah. It was. We were. It's good to know people saw that." Harry says quietly. It pretty much ends their conversation for a bit, both lost in their thoughts as their cats seemingly get along like a house on fire.

"Glad they're getting along then," Harry says, echoing Zayns thoughts from much closer than Zayn had thought he was. 

His eyes in that photo Louis sent him - the photo that's been his bloody wallpaper ever since - don't do half the justice that they do now. Much brighter, more filled with details of gold highlights and all shades of green from the very pale to the darkest hues near the centre. His dimples deeper than Zayn had thought they were. His lips a darker pink than Zayn had ever given them credit for. Shinier, as Harry's tongue slips out between them a flash of strawberry red then gone.

Zayn's never wanted to kiss someone more in his _life_

"Yeah?" He says, voice barely above a whisper and so husky it's like he hasn't spoken in a decade.

Harry nods, his hands sliding over Zayn's shoulders, slow and steady like a question as he cradles Zayn's head in his hands, thumbs a soft press at the hinge of his jaw. 

"Would've been awful if they hated being near each other,"

Harry's obviously been chewing gum, his breath is almost too minty fresh. Zayn's very happy he brushed his one last time before leaving the house, he can imagine Harry is, too, with how they're basically breathing in each other right now. Standing toe to toe, Zayn shifting his feet a bit so they're pressed together from the waist up. Zayn settles his hands on Harry's hips, slips his fingertips under that awful jumper to the warmth of his skin below. Harry shivers, brushes the tip of his nose against Zayn's.

"Is this you asking me out?" Zayn doesn't break his gaze with Harry's even as their lips catch for a second as he does.

"Do you really need me to?" Harry asks, a tremor in his tone as Zayn's palms slide up over the small of his back and higher still. Harry's so warm and Zayn just wants to be closer.

He doesn't answer Harry with words, too bloody many have been spoken already for his liking. He kisses him instead, nothing short and sweet but this hungry thing that sparks between them the second Zayn leans in or Harry does. They get lost in it, this kiss that says all the things they haven't and all the things they will. It's a year of flirting behind stupid made up names and a year of banter with their own. It's three months of knowing and waiting and hoping the other would make a move first.

It's finding someone that makes your heart skip. Makes you want to listen to all the songs that you would roll your eyes at when you were young. Those sickly sweet saccharine things that told about true love and soul mates and being with the one.

It's Harry kissing Zayn because he might just be falling or he's already there and it's the very best because Zayn's right there beside him, falling just as fast. 

They kiss as their cats wind slow circles around their ankles, begging for attention until they get tired of being denied and wander off to the bed that Harry keeps in the back near the radiator, curling up together close. 

They're still there, an hour or so later when Zayn walks in wearing Harry's jumper, Harry with Tiger's blanket around his shoulders, their hands entwined.


End file.
